Ready
by Exceeds Expectations
Summary: There are things about the war that fall into the cracks of history. He is not one of them. /HannahNeville for Song Swap Competition


**A/N: **So there was a kangaroo stuck in my bellybutton so I wasn't able to publish, but then I got the kangaroo out and it published for me. Thanks to my fab kangaroo for publishing!

* * *

**"Pull me out from inside...**

**I am ready,**

**I am...fine."**

**- Colorblind, Counting Crows**

* * *

**1.**

Some things, Neville knows, are forgotten far too easily. Things that aren't important, or things that are but are far too painful to relive. There are things about the war that fall into the cracks of history.

He is not one of them.

* * *

**2.**

He's known Hannah Abbott for years. They'd had Herbology together most years, and she was proper good at it. And, by some miracle, Neville was even better. She used to corner him in sixth year, asking question after question about the Bashful Begonias, and why hers hadn't flowered nearly as quickly as his.

"They're very shy," Neville had mumbled. "They need a lot of - of talking to and that. Attention and - er - affection."

"Hmm," Hannah had replied with a growing smirk. "Curious."

"What?" But she was gone in a whirl of blonde plaits and yellow scarf, hurrying off in the direction of the greenhouses.

* * *

**3.  
**  
Gran's house has always been grey. For all of his life, there have been shadows lurking in the corners of every room. There is no malice here though, no evil he has come to expect from the darkest places. No demons or ghosts; they are haunted by the things they cannot have, the future that could've been. The darkened corners hold only the what-ifs that Gran never says out loud, and Neville tries never to think about.

When he returns that first time after the final battle, it's like the house is alive again. Like they've been freed.

"You make me so proud, Neville," Gran says firmly. It sits on the half-moon curve of Neville's smile for the rest of the week.

* * *

**4.**

He goes to see his parents the very next day.

"He's gone, Mum," he says gently, holding her hand. "Harry did it - we knew he would but it's over now! We did it. He's dead."

She smiles at him blankly and nods. "You," she says, with a soft fondness, and presses a shaky hand to Neville's chest. "You."

His mouth is dry. "Mum?"

She giggles and removes her hand. A single gum wrapper floats to the ground. Neville smiles at it, then at his mum, but he does not reach down to pick it up. He reaches for her hand again instead.

* * *

**5.**

"What if I asked you to marry me?" he blurts. He hadn't meant to say it - hadn't even known he was thinking of saying it - but it wedges itself between them on the sofa like an awkward guest, waiting to be acknowledged. As soon as he says it, the air evaporates from his lungs. "I mean - I didn't -"

"You want to marry me?" Her rosy cheeks are flushed even more than normal. Neville can feel the gravity of her voice - he leans into her words, is powerless to the pull of her.

"If you'll have me," he says softly, now only inches away. "I love you, Hannah. More than anything."

"I love you, too," she says, beaming. Her eyes dart excitedly around his face, drinking in all of him. "Yes. Oh, Merlin, yes!"

He closes the distance between them, catches her breath and inhales the very essence of her.

He never thought he'd have this, if he's honest. Someone who loves him so very much, who makes him as happy as his parents looked in their photographs.

Hannah smiles against his lips and Neville knows he was always meant to find her. They were always supposed to end up here. She's the one.

* * *

**6.  
**  
"What was it like, Professor?" Julie Finnegan asks, twirling a strand of sandy hair between her perfectly manicured fingers. "My dad doesn't like to talk about it."

"I heard they'd cut you the Muggle way if you got a question wrong!" a skinny boy pipes up from down the back.

"I heard they didn't feed you," a little freckled girl says solemnly, looking at Neville piteously. "My mum says she got more beatings than hot meals."

"It - well, it wasn't very nice," Neville says. It's been years, but there are days where he feels like a kid again, checking over his shoulder for Carrows or curses. Today is one of those days - May 2nd. Always May 2nd.

"Did you - did you know any of - of them?" asks Roberts, nodding his head through the glass of the greenhouse towards the tall monument in the middle of the grounds, the names of the dead carved in delicate swirls.

"Yeah," Neville says. He stares for a moment. He can't read it from here, but he knows exactly where to find Fred. Or Colin. Or Lavender. Or Remus. "I knew a few. They were good people."

"I'm sorry, Professor." Neville looks down towards the voice and finds Roxanne Weasley staring up at him. He had forgotten she was here.

"Roxy. I'm sorry, too," he replies. The class falls silent; Roxanne Weasley rarely speaks, and never so boldly. "You would've loved your uncle Fred," Neville says. "He was a great man. Funny. Smart, too. They were unstoppable, him and your dad."

"Dad talks about him all the time," Roxanne says. Her dark hair falls in front of her face as she looks down at her hands. "I know how much he misses him. It must be hard for you all. To go through that, I mean."

"It gets easier," Neville says gently. Thinking of his own parents, growing frailer and frailer, he adds, "I know it's not easy seeing someone you care about in pain and being powerless to stop it."

"Yeah, well," Roxanne says, donning an almost-smile, "Dad's strong."

"Like you, Professor," Julie quips. "Like all of the people who fought in the war. My mum and dad are, too."

"Thank you, Julie," Neville says, finding an almost-smile of his own. "Some days it doesn't feel like it."

* * *

**7.  
**  
"Don't have a good word to say about yourself in here, do you?" muses a deep voice in Neville's ear. "Ah, of course. Augusta's grandson. I remember her. She was a severe one - a smart woman, too. Skilled."

_I'm not like her,_ Neville thinks, embarrassed._ I'm not like any of them. I belong in Hufflepuff, I know I do. _

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're loyal to a fault, yes, not afraid of a bit of hard work either, but there's something..."

_I'm not brave at all, I'm not,_ Neville recites in his head. _I'm not brave, I'm not brave, I'm not brave. _

"See what I mean? No belief in yourself. I think you'll soon get that sorted in GRYFFINDOR!" The last word is a shout that sends up a roar of applause, the Gryffindor table ready to accept him with open arms.

Neville's stomach sinks.

There's been a mistake. He's not brave. He's not. He's _Neville_. This is going to go horribly, horribly wrong.


End file.
